


A Hole in the World

by sahiya



Category: Temeraire - Novik
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Grief, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-19
Updated: 2010-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-06 11:21:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a hole in the world, and it cannot be filled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hole in the World

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://fuzzyboo03.livejournal.com/profile)[**fuzzyboo03**](http://fuzzyboo03.livejournal.com/) and [](http://firefly-124.livejournal.com/profile)[**firefly_124**](http://firefly-124.livejournal.com/) for beta reading. The title of this fic is, quite obviously, stolen without shame from an S5 episode of _Angel_.

Breakfast was nearly finished by the time Emily made her way down from her quarters to the dining room. She smiled at a few of her crew members lingering over their breakfasts, and accepted a cup of tea from one of the servants – she didn't know how his name yet, but she would eventually, within a few days at least. They had a long haul of training ahead of them here at Loch Loggan; Emily thought most of her crew dreaded it as a painfully dull chore, but for her part she looked forward to it with a certain sense of pleasure. She liked the crisp fall air here in Scotland, and Loch Loggan felt more like home than any of the other coverts.

The captains' table was nearly deserted – all save Sam Laurence, drooping over his coffee. He saw her and managed to at once wave and stifle a yawn. Emily was startled, as she always was, at how very much he resembled his father, in face and expression, if not in mannerisms. Sam was an aviator through and through and Laurence . . . never quite had been. He'd retained his personal elegance and fine manners all his life. Sam had made the effort for his father's sake when he was a boy, but it had never quite suited him and now he had mostly given it up for lost.

"Good morning," Emily said, seating herself beside Sam. The servants laid a plate of bacon and eggs in front of her and she immediately bit into the bacon; the flavor hadn't changed a bit since she was a girl, and for a brief moment she felt nine years old again.

"Somewhere, I'm sure," Sam said, and rubbed his face. "I beg your pardon. We flew in from Edinburgh very late last night and I am not altogether at my best today."

Emily frowned in sympathy. "Well, at least we have a day's liberty before beginning maneuvers tomorrow."

"Yes, thank goodness. I wish to give Temeraire a chance to rest and settle in, as well as the crew; the Edinburgh covert is not very comfortable for a heavyweight."

"No, certainly not," Emily said, thinking of the small, cramped courtyard of the covert there; there was no room for any pavilions at all. "Were you there long?"

"No, only a week – long enough, I must say." Sam sighed. "And yourself? Up from Dover, are you?"

"No, London. We had a few days' furlough to see my mother."

"Oh," Sam said, brightening at the mention of Emily's mother, as Emily had known he would. Sam was not truly Emily's brother; her mother had been too old to bear children by the time the war ended and it came time to think about who would succeed Laurence as Temeraire's captain. But she had had more of a hand in raising him than his mother had, and Emily knew he held great affection for her. "How is she?"

"She is well, I believe," Emily said, after a brief hesitation. "She misses Laurence terribly, though of course, being Mother, she does not say so. She would like very much to see you, if you can manage it."

Sam nodded. "And I would very much like to see her, as I'm sure you know. But . . ."

Emily raised her eyebrows. "Yes?"

"Temeraire," Sam said quietly. "He has done everything possible to avoid going to London since Father died. I believe he is avoiding your mother especially."

"Oh," Emily said. She poked at her breakfast, which had cooled as they talked, and broke one of the yolks of her eggs. "How is he?"

Sam looked down into his cup. "I don't know. Sometimes I think we are going along quite well and then a black mood seizes him – there is very little I can do then, only wait for him to come out of it. He always does, eventually. I worry," Sam's voice dropped, "I worry I am not good enough."

Emily had, perhaps fortunately, finally taken a bite of her eggs, and so could not immediately reply. She swallowed and drained the last of her tea. "Stuff," she said. "Temeraire has great affection for you."

"As he does for you," Sam said, "but not as he did for my father."

Emily fell briefly silent. "You must give it time, Sam," she said at last.

"I have given it a year. Pray tell me, how long did it take Excidium to adjust to you?"

Emily sighed. "Somewhat less than that," she admitted, "but it was not the same, you know it was not. He has done this four times now, after all; I spent nearly five years as Mother's lieutenant and the transition was gradual and expected. Even then there were some problems early on, but Mother –"

"I remember," Sam said. Emily only nodded. She knew that Sam's concerns did not only have to do with Temeraire's prolonged mourning for Laurence, who had died unexpectedly of an apoplexy, leaving Sam the captain of an experienced dragon, one of the most valuable dragons in the Corps, at the tender age of twenty-one. Sam had been a child of Laurence's middle age and they had always known he must go into harness young, but he ought to have had another three years as a lieutenant, learning how to command. Circumstances were difficult, indeed, Emily was forced to admit to herself.

"He does listen to you, does he not?" Emily said at last.

"Oh yes," Sam said, "when he wishes to."

"Well, he hardly ever obeyed Laurence when he didn't wish to," Emily pointed out, "at least not in later years."

Sam nodded. "I suppose." He sighed. "Well, I must see to him."

"And I to Excidium. He is most likely wondering what has become of me."

Together they rose and went out to the dragon yard. Emily sneaked glances at Sam's face as they went; he was pensive, his gaze downcast, and she sighed to herself. Perhaps her mother had predicted this, she thought, though she had not said anything, had only got a certain sad expression whenever Emily mentioned Sam or Temeraire. At first Emily had assumed it was because such reminders of Laurence were too painful, but that was not like her mother, not in the least; now she suspected it was because her mother must have somehow sensed that all was not well there. She wondered if either Sam or Temeraire wrote to her, though it was, of course, unlikely that Temeraire might do so without Sam's knowledge.

The morning was cool, as befitted September in Scotland, but the yard itself was warm as always, even through the soles of Emily's boots. Excidium and Temeraire, who had not yet had pavilions assigned to them, had claimed one corner of it for themselves, it seemed. Emily and Sam made their way over, weaving through pockets of other dragons, mostly courier beasts with no pavilions of their own. "Good morning, dearest," she said, leaning against Excidium.

"Good morning," Excidium rumbled, nudging back at her with affection. "I was just telling Temeraire that Jane sends her regards and wishes they would come see her when next they are in London."

Emily looked up at Temeraire but could not tell what he might be thinking; however, his ruff was drooping. "Yes," Temeraire said after a brief pause, "perhaps. If Samuel would like to."

"I would," Sam said. He stroked Temeraire's neck, and Emily, watching him out the corner of her eye, saw a flash of fierce devotion in his eyes. How painful it must be, she realized suddenly. How painful to be raised to one thing – to be one thing to one creature in all the world – and feel inadequate to it. How painful it must be to feel that try though he might, Sam would always be second in Temeraire's eyes.

Emily felt the backs of her eyes prickling at the thought and turned away, toward Excidium, who lowered his head to look at her. "Emily?" he said.

"Nothing, a spot of dust, that is all." She stroked his side and swallowed until she had got control of herself. "Well, and what would you like to do with our last bit of liberty for some time?"

Excidium eyed her once more, rather dubiously, but at last he raised his head and said, "Temeraire said they were going to the lake this morning; I think I might like that as well. It promises to be a fine day."

"Yes," Emily said, and looked to Sam, "it does, at that. Do you mind if we join you?"

"Of course not," Sam said, forcing a smile, "only let me change out of my coat before we go."

The excursion did not take long to organize, though it swelled a bit before all was said and done – in the end three other dragons came along, and they transformed the lake into a roiling, frothing sea. Emily stayed well back up on shore and watched them at it, glad, as she often was, that her time as Excidium's captain had thus far been blessed by peace. There was time now for moments such as these, and she was grateful for them. She supposed that war was more exciting, but she had spent the entirety of her girlhood in a nation fighting for its sovereignty and did not wish to repeat the experience.

Some minutes later Temeraire emerged, dripping, though the other dragons were still locked in their mock-battle. He sprawled out on the shore in the sunlight, black hide gleaming almost blue. Beside her, Sam stirred to go to him. "Wait," Emily said impulsively, placing a hand on his arm, "let me speak to him."

Sam frowned. "He is my dragon."

"Yes, of course," Emily said, with little patience but rather more sympathy, "but we are flying in formation together, and if there is at all a possibility that I may be able to help you both, then I wish to do so."

Sam considered this. "Very well, then. Only pray be sure to tell him I'm not angry with him?"

Indeed that was Temeraire's very first question when Emily lowered herself to the rocky shore beside him, cloth in hand. "Samuel is not angry with me, is he?" he asked, lifting his head to peer anxiously across at the other captains, grouped on the shore together.

"No, my dear," Emily said, beginning to clean carefully around his face with the cloth, just as she had during all her years as his runner and ensign, before being assigned to Lily as a mid. "I only wished to speak to you."

"Oh," Temeraire said, with a relief that heartened her. "Why?"

Emily gave him a rather sad smile. "Because I am worried for you. And for Sam, as well."

"Oh," Temeraire said again, and lay his head down once more. "I thought it might be something like that."

"Yes." She fell silent then, busying herself with the rag and hoping he might speak of his own accord. When he did not, she asked, "How are you, Temeraire? Truly."

Temeraire did not answer at first, and when at last he did, he would not look at her; rather, he kept his eyes trained on the frothing water rushing and retreating on the shore. "It is as though there is a hole in the world," he said. "Or at least a hole in my world, and it cannot be filled. And I have tried and tried to let Samuel fill it, and he cannot, and it hurts me. And it is hurting him as well. I am hurting him, and I never wished to do that, only I do not know what I might do to stop."

"Oh, my dear," Emily said softly, petting him now, the rag discarded beside her.

Temeraire was quiet again for some time, scarcely breathing, it seemed to Emily. "I know I should go to London and see your mother," he said at last. "I would like to see her. But I am afraid." He stopped, and Emily forced herself to quiet stillness, save for stroking his nose over and over. "I am afraid that perhaps she does not mourn him anymore. I think that perhaps men are better at grieving than are dragons, and I could not bear to see – and then, I think, how wretched of me, to wish such sadness upon her. I am so very tired of this, Emily. It has been a year, and there is yet a hole in my world, and I cannot think to live two hundred more with it."

Emily could not answer. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and swiped at her eyes. "She mourns him still," she managed thickly, "of course she does. She loved Laurence, you know. Even though they never married, even though – she did love him."

"I thought so," Temeraire said, with such sadness it made Emily's heart ache. "But I do not know if that would be better for me to see. I do not know anything at all anymore."

"Oh, Temeraire," Emily said, and bent to rest her cheek against his. She closed her eyes. "Sam does not want to fill that hole. He knows he cannot and he would never wish to replace Laurence for you. You must stop trying or you will break both your hearts."

"Then what might I do instead?" Temeraire said, sounding utterly at sea.

"You must . . ." Emily raised her head and paused, thinking. She and Excidium were not the same, she knew; her mother was still alive and well, and, God willing, would be for some time to come. But surely it was some of the same process, some of the same grief. "You must let him become something else entirely to you. Something equally irreplaceable."

Temeraire raised his head to look at Sam, who had taken Emily's own place beside Excidium, Emily noticed, following his gaze. "He is already that," Temeraire said. "He has been thus ever since Laurence presented him to me as a hatchling." He looked at Emily. "But it cannot be so simple."

"There is nothing simple about it, my dear, no," Emily said, with a shake of her head. "But it is a beginning. And I think you would do well to speak with Excidium about it. I am his fourth captain, you know."

Temeraire shook his great head slowly. "I – I cannot now conceive –"

"I know," Emily said softly, stroking his nose again. "I know. That is why you should speak to him. He may have some wisdom that I do not, which might help you. You needn't do it immediately," she added. "We have a long time ahead of us here in training. But I do not wish to see you and Sam go on hurting each other."

"Neither do I," Temeraire said in a low voice. He sighed. "And neither would Laurence, least of all, I believe."

"Then think on what I said and speak to Excidium, when you feel you are able."

Temeraire lay his head back down. "Perhaps."

Emily rose and dusted off her trousers. "Shall I send Sam over?"

"Yes, pray do so."

Sam scrambled up as he saw Emily returning, and they met on the shore halfway between the two dragons. He only looked at her, his face tired and pinched, and she nodded. His mouth thinned briefly, and she thought, though only for a moment, that he looked near tears. Then he moved past her, towards Temeraire, and she went on to Excidium.

"Is he well?" Excidium asked as Emily lowered herself to the ground and leaned against him.

She sighed. "There is a hole in his world," she said simply.

Excidium nodded. "I am more than a hundred years old," he said, turning his head to look at her directly. "There are many holes in my world, and there will be many more before I die. Eventually you learn to let them be; to let them hurt as long as they must, but also not to keep on prodding at them so that they are forever bleeding. It is the only way to go on living."

She lay her head against the rough hide of his neck. "Will you say that to him, dearest? If he asks you?"

Excidium nodded. "Gladly. And perhaps when next we go to London, they might come with us."

Emily looked down the shore towards Temeraire and Sam; Temeraire had swept his wing over them both, hiding them from view. The sun sparkled off the drops of water that lingered still along his great opalescent wings, and something unaccountably lifted in her heart. She did not know why, but the sight of that wing, sheltering them from the rest of the world, comforted her as she did not think anything else could. "Yes," she said quietly. "Perhaps they might."

_Fin._


End file.
